Chapter 4
Four
The Vase
Six of us – the five hulijing courtiers and me – kneel in Big Wang’s office, waiting for him to return.
Lord Aengus is perched on one of the horseshoe-back chairs behind us, the blue and white porcelain of his vase gleaming against the honeyed huali wood, blond hair still pinned to the cushion to hold his face upright.
The envoy is bright red, as he should be. If it wasn’t for his withholding key information about his health, and his foolhardy insistence on ‘cultural exchange’ with the courtiers, we would not be on our knees, forced to have this excruciating conversation.
Celestials all smell of gingery flint and crushed chalk, while hulijing are also marked with a honeyed fishy scent. The five of them, like most Celestials, are doused with perfume. Confined in Big Wang’s modestly sized office, the pungent smells make my throat itch.
Big Wang enters the room in a bright coral robe open to the waist and tied with an emerald green sash.
His blue-black scalp gleams under the electric lights as he surveys the room.
When he reaches Lord Aengus, his gaze pauses briefly, before he turns, grabbing a bottle of cognac and a glass from a nearby sideboard.
Seated at his desk he pours himself a cognac, then takes a cigar from his drawer.
With a specially carved jade pin, he pokes a hole in one end, then slowly toasts the other over a turquoise tortoise-shaped table lighter.
The cigar sizzles to life. All this time, Big Wang has not once looked our way.
He takes a slow drag. Smoke billows and coils around him, forming a hazy veil through which the cigar end glows like a lantern in the fog. The cognac he swirls briefly. Instead of sipping, the way he usually does, he knocks back the entire glass.
This is not a good sign.
When Big Wang finally raises his gaze, three blazing embers glare at us through the smoke. ‘Explain, Little Jing.’
I can’t help the slow exhale of frustration that seeps from me. I grit my teeth so I don’t scream at Lord Aengus for getting us into this mafan and count to twenty for good measure. Staring at my knees, which are starting to hurt, I recite in a monotone the events that led us here.
‘Venerable Lord Aengus wished to get to know the hulijing courtiers and accepted their invitation to play kanhoo last night.
They ordered five rounds of cocktails to their rooms and became very drunk.
Lord Aengus wanted to know how it felt to have his awen – the yang qi unique to the Tuatha Dé – taken from him; the courtiers did not wish to do so, however Lord Aengus insisted and held out his wrist.
‘The hulijing refused, so Lord Aengus suggested an exchange. He absorbed awen from the plants in the hulijings’ suite, and then returned it and made the plants bloom. The hulijing courtiers showed him how they absorb yang qi, taking some awen from his wrist.
‘The group was very drunk by now so the order of events is not as clear. At some point, Lord Aengus invited them all to exchange qi, so some of the hulijing ministers, possibly all – it is unclear – tried to imbue him with their qi, while some, possibly all, absorbed his qi in return.’
At this I stop, embarrassed by the childishness of their antics and having to explain this to Big Wang. Lady Min starts to weep. Big Wang puffs on his cigar. I can’t look at him nor the hulijing, so I raise my eyes to the ceiling and continue my report.
‘Lord Aengus failed to inform us that he suffers from a medical condition triggered by over-expending his awen, or by allowing his awen to be drained. Lord Aengus did both of these. The group continued to play kanhoo, until one by one they fell asleep. When they awoke, Lord Aengus was . . .’ I gesture vaguely at the chair where Lord Aengus sits in his vase.
The courtiers are openly crying now. I lean forward to ease the pins and needles in my legs.
‘That is quite the story.’ Big Wang sips his cognac and smokes his cigar as he contemplates the six of us kneeling before his desk. The red glow of his pupils has dimmed and fine lines crinkle at the corner of his eyes.
Is he laughing? As if he can hear my thoughts, he clears his throat and pulls on his mahjong face.
‘We are in a troublesome spot,’ he says in measured tones.
‘Lord Aengus, you are an honoured guest in the Realms of Hell. Under the terms of the International Treaty of Immortal Harmony, any insult or injury to your noble person while in our realm is clearly our responsibility.’ Big Wang’s pupils glow red.
‘Our ignorance of your condition mitigates what otherwise would be a severe offence to Tuatha Dé. If we had known, this unfortunate incident could have been avoided entirely.’
‘Ten thousand apologies, venerable Yan Luo Wang,’ Lord Aengus says.
‘This is my fault, I should never have suggested we swap qi.’ His eyebrows knit in concern at the hulijing.
‘The courtiers were completely innocent in all this. Please do not reprimand them.’ He clears his throat.
‘Raise high your noble hand, take pity and do not let my father know I misled you.’
Big Wang leans forward to scrutinise Lord Aengus. I’m impressed by how long Lord Aengus lasts before dropping his gaze.
Big Wang watches him a little longer before glancing down at the weeping hulijing. ‘Ministers,’ he says. ‘Please find a seat. We will solve nothing with tears.’
Envy stabs me as I watch the hulijing rise. It might have hurt more if I had any feeling left in my legs. The courtiers dab their eyes and give Big Wang a deep ninety-degree bow.
‘Raise high your honourable hand, most venerable Yan Luo Wang,’ they intone as one and leave me on the floor while they settle themselves in the armchairs behind me. I give those fickle ingrates the stink eye.
Staring at Big Wang, I will him to let me get off my knees too. Finally, he sighs. Without looking at me, he lifts his chin and gestures to the chairs. Thank Tian. I have to use the desk to haul myself off my knees.
Big Wang puts his cigar in a silver tortoise ashtray.
The red glow in his pupils grows until the whole of his eyes burn like embers.
Shadows darken and expand around Big Wang as he suddenly swells in size to loom above us, an oppressive and chilling presence.
A rare glimpse of his true form. ‘Lord Aengus,’ he says, his voice a rolling thunder so deep it makes my chest ache. ‘Do you know what you ask of me?’
Lord Aengus gapes at Big Wang, then swallows.
‘Contain my thoughtlessness. I should have been more clear in my request. I would never dream of asking venerable Yan Luo Wang, King of Hell, most righteous and honourable Supreme Judge of Diyu, to lie. Nor would I wish to put a pantheon in a precarious position due to my own failings. All I ask is to turn a blind eye to my illness for a couple of days. You see, were I to fall ill on my way home, then the hulijing could not be held responsible. I will ask my healer to meet me in Paris with the elixir and I shall be able to return home fully restored.’ Under his breath, so low as to be nearly undetectable, he mutters, ‘And the Dagda will be none the wiser.’
Big Wang rotates the end of a new cigar over his tortoise table lighter as his shadows shrink to their regular size. ‘Mmmmgh.’
The non-committal grunt, paired with his mahjong face, is classic Big Wang negotiation tactic. Lord Aengus waits, but Big Wang says no more. The silence stretches as Lord Aengus’s expression becomes more and more distraught.
The door swings open to an intense light, as if the sun itself hovered in the doorway. I have to blink a few times before I can see again. When I do, I’m not the only one in the room who gasps.
The Great Goddess, Queen Mother of the West, floats over the threshold of Big Wang’s office.
Fluffy clouds cushion her bare feet. Contrary to her title, she is a diminutive vision clad in a robe of moon-bright silk, no taller than my waist. Her water sleeves spill to the parquet floor while silk ribbons billow and swirl around her on eddies of unseen breezes.
A golden circlet gathers her thick black hair in a loose bun at the top of her head.
Luminous white jade adorns her – carved ruyi clouds dangle from her ears and neck, while bangles circle her wrists and ankles.
Her round face is lit with a serene smile.
Everything about her – from her dimpled knuckles and plump cheeks, to her gestures – exudes tenderness and compassion.
Everything that is but her eyes. They are sharp, ancient, and knowing.
Big Wang bows low. The rest of us hastily slip from our chairs to our knees. With the horseshoe-back chairs behind us and the low table in front of us, there isn’t enough space to kowtow, so we bow as low as we can, foreheads hitting the edge of the table.
‘Great Goddess Queen Mother of the West,’ we chorus. ‘Ten thousand years of good health.’
Lord Aengus tears up. Unable to bow or move his head, he lowers his gaze and says, ‘This unworthy one basks in the most virtuous and venerable Great Goddess, Queen Mother of the West’s glory.’
Lord Aengus’s greeting seems to delight Queen Mother of the West. Eyes sparkling, she replies, ‘Céad míle fáilte romhat, Little Yang.’ Scolded the happy rice gave out tea-meat makes no sense, but Lord Aengus draws in a breath of surprised delight, as if if she’s given him the highest praise.
He gazes adoringly at Queen Mother of the West as she turns to us and says, ‘This one of Mount Kunlun arrives before you unharmed.’
‘Venerable Queen Mother of the West,’ Big Wang says, still in his low bow. ‘The Realms of Hell are honoured by your virtuous presence. This humble one before you welcomes you to Immortal Shanghai.’
‘You have grown up well, Little Wang,’ the Great Goddess, Queen Mother of the West says. ‘Get up, there’s no need to stand on ceremony.’